


24:00:00

by brejamison



Series: Catching Dick Grayson [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne is Trying, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Coma, Dick is a good dad, Eventual Fluff, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Panic Attacks, Team as Family, also gets panic attacks, because also obviously, because obviously, dick cusses sometimes, dick has a pilots license, lots of easter eggs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 09:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23349523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brejamison/pseuds/brejamison
Summary: In which Rachel is injured and given twenty-four hours to pull through. With the other Titans away, it's up to Dick to keep her - and himself - from falling apart.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Koriand'r & Garfield Logan & Raven, Dick Grayson & Raven, Dick Grayson/Koriand'r
Series: Catching Dick Grayson [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670530
Comments: 6
Kudos: 104





	24:00:00

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Not_So_Mundane_After_All_97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_So_Mundane_After_All_97/gifts).



**TITANS TOWER**  
**SAN FRANCISCO**

24:00:00

Twenty-four hours. 

Dr. Stewart had given Rachel twenty-four hours to pull through. If she could make it that long, she would make a full recovery. If she couldn't, it was pretty likely that the rest of the Titans - who were stuck in the airport - wouldn't get a chance to say goodbye. 

Dick had broken protocol by bringing the doctor here. But she was a trusted League associate and he had been desperate. So he had called her, practically begged her to come, and allowed her into the Tower. She had gotten to work with him at her elbow the whole time, passing sponges and wiping her brow, until she had done all she could do. Then she had given him her diagnosis, wished them both luck, and left.

He sat in the infirmary, leg bouncing, tapping her number into his League and personal phone just in case. Swallowing thickly, he started the timer. 

23:59:99

Twenty-four hours and counting. 

He sat back in the chair, twitching and exhaling slowly. Kory texted him, asking how she was. He gave her the full update and she promised they would be there as soon as they could. The airport was a mess, though, and it would be quicker to hurry up and wait for the storm to pass than try to work out another mode of transportation. He understood. 

23:53:38

It was going to be a long twenty-four hours. 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

He had made it almost exactly twelve minutes before the itch under his skin forced him to stand and get busy somehow. He couldn't just sit here and wait for the worst without sacrificing what was left of his own sanity. Taking his phone with him, he walked into the great room, headed straight for the kitchen. He set his phone on the counter, the countdown displayed on the screen, and stood staring at the fridge. 

He wasn't hungry. 

He _was_ hungry, but he couldn't eat. 

He _should_ eat. Sustenance was always important after a mission or his muscles would regret it in the morning. He knew this. It had been pounded into him since he was twelve. 

But he couldn't eat. 

Snatching his phone back, he stomped to his room. He stayed long enough to rinse off in the shower and slip into casual clothes - a gray shirt and some pants or something. They were clean and he didn't give the outfit a second thought. Bringing his laptop and some headphones, he dragged a comfortable chair into the infirmary and got settled. Legs crossed, laptop open, headphones ready, he sat. 

He checked the timer again. 

22:09:47

Two hours down, somehow. Only twenty-two to go. 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

He lost another hour staring into space, arms crossed as he looked out the window. The sun had risen, its beams muted by the low-hanging dark clouds. Rain pelted against the windows and deck outside, distant thunder rumbling across the ocean. It looked like the rain wouldn't be stopping for a while, the furthest reaching vestiges of a storm tormenting the city. 

He heard screaming, saw a splash of blood, and blinked right before Rachel went down. Stupid flashbacks. He pulled in a shuttering breath, tightening his arms and glancing at the bed. No change and no improvement. Twenty hours to go and she hadn't made any noticeable inch of progress. 

Breaking pose, he marched to her bedside, tapping the monitor. He switched between windows, checking her brain activity, blood oxygen levels, anything that he could in any way understand. The numbers remained the same, maddeningly refusing to improve. 

Oh, how he wanted to call Dr. Stewart and hear a trusted professional reassure him it would be fine. Or maybe Kory and let her fiercely kind words soothe him. If only Donna was still around; she would tell him how to take his overactive mind off everything and stop the spiral before it even started. Because it was coming. It was coming fast and hard and his only hope was to stave it off for the next nineteen hours. 

Fingers tapping an uncoordinated rhythm, he switched the monitor to the default view and paced away. Large hands scrubbed his face and he counted his steps, timed his breathing, cracked his knuckles, did anything he could to get his mind focused on something other than the echoes of her screaming. 

The walls started to melt and he knew he had to get out. He burst out of the room, pacing and breathing heavily in the hallway. Music would help, music always helped, but he wouldn't dare deafen himself to the beeping monitors even a little bit. He could read or work on reports if he wasn't so damn distracted. The training room was too far away - an entire floor beneath the infirmary - and he didn't need anything from the bedrooms. 

He could eat. He should eat. But the suggestion was passed over before it could even be considered. No way would he be able to taste anything. 

That left the great room, its lounge looking traitorously inviting. A sit would be nice, a moment to relax by the fire and release some of the tension in his shoulders, but he didn't deserve it. He needed to stay vigilant, ready to pop into action at a moment's notice. If her vitals changed, he needed to be there. If she started to wake up, he would be standing over her, welcoming her back. 

His reflection caught in the rain and he saw blood on his hands, his own ineptitude mocking him. He had been too slow, his stupid moral compass a crutch keeping him from doing what had been necessary. If he had only been stronger, faster, better, he could have saved her. Without his own limitations in the way, she would have been fine. 

His phone buzzed and he rushed to answer it. "Kory," he greeted urgently. 

_"We got tickets."_

"When do you leave?" 

_"Not for another eight hours."_

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." 

_"Look, I'm not any happier about it than you are. None of us are. You think we want to be stuck here with what's going on?"_

His face sank into his palm, rubbing and pulling at his hair. "This wouldn't have happened if we flew private. If I had just... I could've figured something out." 

_"Dick, you only have so many strings you can pull. And you used a lot of them just to get her and yourself back home. That's what's important; that's she's back where she belongs."_

He sighed, glancing down the hall. "I just wish I could have done more." 

She returned the tense exhale, muffling the mic against the din of angry travelers behind her. _"No updates yet from the doctor?"_

"No changes. Everything is the same from a couple of hours ago." 

_"Well that's good, right? That means she isn't getting any worse."_

He clenched his jaw to bite back the angry remark that almost came out. No, technically she wasn't getting any worse. But she also wasn't getting any better. The clock was ticking, her time running down, and she was no closer to waking up than she was when all of this started. "I'll call you back. Let me know when you're in the air." 

_"Dick-!"_

He hung up, checking the timer and pocketing his phone. 

18:34:07

He really needed a distraction, someone to talk to, to scream and rant at. Someone who could take his blows and bites and still consider him a decent human being when it was all said and done. God, he missed Donna. 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

When she was halfway, with exactly twelve hours left, her heart stopped. 

Dick sprinted into the room, phone already dialing Dr. Stewart. He skidded to the monitor, checking her vitals and confirming what the long beep was telling him. The call rang and he put it on speaker, two fingers going to check her pulse. There was none. 

"Shit." 

Dr. Stewart picked up right as he was moving Rachel to the floor, lowering her as gently as he could. 

"It's Rachel! She has no pulse!" 

He dropped the phone to his side and got up on his knees. Fingers intertwined, he started pumping her chest, elbows rigid as he tried desperately to keep her blood pumping. 

_"For how long?"_ Stewart asked. 

"About forty seconds." He continued pumping, pleading and praying with the girl to wake up. "I just started CPR." 

_"Okay, good. Keep those up. I'm on the way."_

"Doctor! You need the access code. I won't be able to buzz you in." 

She retrieved her pen and notebook, flipping to a random page. _"Go ahead."_

"It's the emergency code. It changes every forty-eight hours." 

_"I understand."_ Whether that was true or not, she knew better than to sneak into heroes' secret lairs. There was a reason she was trusted by the League, after all. _"What is it?"_

He closed his eyes, thoughts and arms straining as he tried to remember. There had been so many numbers lately. "071964." 

_"Got it. I'm on the way. ETA is about fifteen minutes."_

He waited for her to hang up, determined to not remove his hands from Rachel's chest. It hadn't even been two minutes and his arms were already starting to burn. Fifteen was pushing it. "Computer," he called. His League phone lit up from across the room. "Call Alfred's Red Phone." 

_"CALLING ALFRED. EMERGENCY DESIGNATION,"_ it replied and started ringing. 

The butler picked up in record time. _"Master Dick?"_

"I have a fifteen-year-old white female undergoing cardiac arrest after having sustained multiple photon blasts and blunt force traumas to the upper torso." 

_"And you are performing chest compressions?"_

"Yes, for about-" He checked the timer. "-150 seconds now. Her physician is on the way but still about fifteen minutes out." 

_"Is there anyone else willing to take over CPR for a moment?"_

"No. No, I'm..." A lump materialized in his throat, drying up his words before he could even say them. He was alone. 

_"Breathe, Master Dick."_

"There's no one else willing." 

_"Very well, then. Ensure that her head is reclined and airway open."_

He did, pausing long enough to tilt her chin to the sky. Alfred instructed him to check her airway and he muttered an apology, prying her jaw open and sticking a finger into her mouth. He pressed her tongue away, feeling for any sort of debris or vomit. "Clear," he replied, wiping his hand clean. 

_"Very good. Resume chest compressions for another twenty seconds."_

Alfred counted out loud, Dick following along under his breath as he pumped her chest. After twenty he checked for a pulse. "No pulse." 

_"Do you have access to a defibrillator?"_

"Here," he replied, grabbing the small machine. He turned it on, opening the top to grab the pads. Alfred walked him through where to place the pads on her torso - one on the shoulder and the other her opposite side - and though Dick had done enough CPR in his life to do it in his sleep, the butler's calm words were a steady force he could cling to. It helped ensure he didn't make any mistakes in his panic and he couldn't thank the old man enough for dropping everything to do this for him. 

On three, the device charged and he pushed the button, scooting a few inches away. Rachel convulsed on the floor, body seizing as the current ran through her. He checked for a pulse again, resuming chest compressions as the device charged a second time. 

"Come on!" he begged, pain in his arms forgotten as she continued to be unresponsive. "Rache, please! Please, come back!" 

The machine beeped. _"Again, Master Dick."_

He swiped a hand across his eyes, backing away and pressing the button. He was falling apart and hated himself for it. He had kept it together every time a fellow officer died on a Gotham street, bleeding to death in his arms and begging for their lives. He hadn't cried when Donna had fallen over, dead before she even hit the ground. He didn't shed a tear at his own parents' funeral. Heroes had died, he had killed, countless wakes had been attended, countless loved ones grieving. And he had sucked it in, bottled it up, and ignored until the job was done and the tombstone was in place. 

He was better than this. But she broke him in ways he could never understand. 

The shock shot through her and he checked again. For Rachel, he would kill and be killed. For Rachel, he would topple worlds. For Rachel, he would cry. 

"Pulse," he said, breathing again at long last. "There's a pulse." 

_"Masterfully done, Master Dick. Shall I put Master Bruce on the phone?"_

Dick removed the pads, tossing them aside as he cradled Rachel in his arms. "Not yet," he decided quickly, lowering her to the mattress. He reconnected the monitors, checking that they were reading her vitals correctly. The rhythm of her heart was the best melody he had ever heard, though it was clouded by the fact that he had almost lost it for good. 

The intercom beeped and he suddenly remembered that Dr. Stewart was coming. And that Alfred was still on the phone. He broke from the bed, swiping his League phone from the chair and buzzing the front exit. "I'll call him back," he answered hurriedly, watching as Stewart rushed into the elevator down below. 

Dick met her in the hallway, relaying the situation as they rounded the corner to the infirmary. "I had to use the defib on her, but her heart rate is mostly stable." 

She put on her stethoscope, checking Rachel's pulse for herself. "How many times?" 

"Twice. She came back about three minutes ago." 

The doctor nodded, feeling Rachel's torso for bruises and checking her injuries. "Doesn't appear as thoough her injuries were worsened by all of that," she declared finally, sighing in relief. "But, Mr. Grayson-" 

"Dick, please." 

"Dick, I have to tell you. It doesn't look good." 

He had known that was coming, but it still hit him like a train to the stomach. Swallowing thickly, he looked away, diverting his eyes. "Had a feeling you were going to say that." 

Stewart sighed sympathetically, checking her watch. "How much longer does she have?" 

10:48:22

"I'm not going to tell you she doesn't have any chance. But I also can't promise that she'll make it out of this. Thirty minutes ago, maybe. But now? Her body has suffered a tremendous shock, on top of what it was already recovering from." 

"But she came back," he admitted desperately. His large eyes held so much anguish and sorrow in them, Stewart felt her own heartstrings pull for the first time in years of delivering bad news. 

"She did. Which means she's still fighting. But her mind may be stronger than her body, in this case." 

He nodded, understanding. With a shaky breath, he pulled in his emotions, wrestling with them to comply. "Thanks for coming. Hope it wasn't too much trouble." 

"If I wanted to avoid trouble I would be staying away from you people," she responded kindly. The grin he gave her was appreciative and tight. He waved and escorted her to the elevator. 

"If you need anything, Dr. Stewart, you know where to find me. Save my number too, if you haven't already." 

"It's mutual. Let me know if anything else changes. Either way, I'll be back in eleven hours. Hopefully to introduce myself." 

"Yeah, hopefully. Thanks again." 

She nodded politely and left, the elevator doors slipping shut behind her. 

10:27:50

He returned to the infirmary, pacing in tight circles and playing with his League phone. He had almost done it. He had almost lost her _again_. Twice now Death had coming calling and twice Dick had barely been able to bring her back. It was two times too many and all his fucking fault. 

10:19:46

He called Bruce. Then he hung up before it finished dialing. He wanted Kory. He wanted Donna. But one was on a plane and the other dead - again, no thanks to him. He imagined the plane bursting into flames and spun out of the room. So many things could go wrong with a plane that full and a flight that long. The engines could fail, there could be a malfunction in the piloting systems. It could crash, explode, sink, disappear, and he would never hear from them again. 

And all because he hadn't gotten them another flight. He was (had been) goddamn Robin, a member of the fucking Justice League. What good was he if he couldn't get his team a plane ride home? 

The emptiness of the great room stole his breath and he struggled to pull it back. Getting them a flight was the least he could do since it was all his fault they were even on that mission in the first place. First, he had decided they would venture way too far from home. Then, he had gotten them ambushed. They were unprepared because his intel was wrong. His source had fed him lies and he couldn't control the goddamn weather. And to top it all off, Rachel had been shot, blow up, held hostage and taken down. 

Rachel of all people had paid for his mistakes. And would so with her life. 

He tripped and careened forward, catching himself roughly on his elbows. Not even bothering to raise his head, he sank into the cold floor, willing it to swallow him whole. He would die in the pharaoh's tomb of his own making. A shrine to his hubris and greatest failures. 

_Call Bruce._

He looked over his shoulder because Donna was dead. He couldn't be hearing her now. Nonetheless, he never disobeyed Donna. Wheezing, he grabbed his phone. Rachel was dying in the other room and here he was, unable to stand if she needed him. 

Bruce picked up on the second ring. _"Dick. Alfred told me what happened. How is she?"_

Dick crumbled. "I fucked up," he cried, hiding under his bangs. "I fucked up. She's - she's hurt and I, I can't..." 

_"Take a breath, son. And tell me what happened."_

"I can't do this, Bruce. I - they deserve better. I'm just... I fuck it all up - all of it - no matter what I do. I can't stop. I can't save them. I... God, Bruce, it's so bad. She's so hurt and no one, no one knows if she's going to make it." 

_"The Roth girl, right? Rachel?"_

He nodded. "And I, I just got her back but the others. They're stuck out there, in an airport somewhere, and the plane. It's going to be too late and she's going to... They're not going to be able to say goodbye." 

_"It sounds to me like you've already given up on her. You haven't, have you?"_

"I... I don't want to." 

_"And yet you find yourself assuming the worst. Heaping piles of blame onto your own head because it's your burden to bear, right? Your crown of thorns?"_

He pressed his forehead to the floor, turning away from the phone. "I'm sorry." 

_"Son, you've been doing this since you were a child. Shouldering all the pain of the world until it beat you into the ground. Then you would go crawling to whomever you believed you had failed, grasping desperately for scraps of forgiveness and apologizing for being a mortal man. If I thought you had anything to be sorry for, rest assured, I would have said so."_

He shook his head because Bruce didn't understand. This time it really was his fault. "It's my fault, though. My mission. My bad intel. My plan that went wrong." 

_"Plans go wrong all the time. And you should never trust intel you can't see with your own eyes, didn't I teach you that?"_

"I forgot, I guess. Was stupid. Was stupid and now-" 

_"Now one of your teammates is hurt. And your inability to help is killing you, festering like a fungus and devouring you from the inside out."_

"If she dies..."

Bruce remained silent, forcing Dick to decide how to finish that statement. If she died, what would happen? He would call Stewart and she'd record the time. The Titans would come back to an empty Tower because Dick would be with her in the morgue, filling out paperwork. There would be a funeral. They were her only family so it would be small - probably a closed casket. She wouldn't want them gawking at her. Or maybe she would want to be cremated. He didn't know if her books had anything to say about funeral practices. Maybe they would need to bury her at sea like a viking. 

He blinked and realized he could breathe again. Thinking about funerals and paperwork had settled him, redirected and focused his mind. Frowning, he sank tiredly into the floor. His mind was still buzzing, vibrating from leftover adrenaline and terror, but he had snapped out of his panic. 

"Bruce..." he sighed because what else was he supposed to say? 

_"How're you feeling now, son?"_

Groaning, he pulled himself to a sitting position and checked the countdown. 

08:47:33

When was the last time he had slept? 

"Tired." 

_"If I may, I would recommend some green tea or a nice herbal broth. Maybe add in some vegetables or chicken stock. A little protein too if you feel so inclined."_

He should eat. He couldn't eat. But some soup sounded nice. 

"Did... did you just recommend chicken and noodle soup?" 

_"Did it work?"_

"...Yes." 

_"I'll tell Alfred to have some prepared next time you visit. In the meantime, some toast would substitute nicely, I think, for some carbohydrates?"_

Dick chuckled at the sheer audacity of the man to so overtly tempt him into eating fucking toast. "I'll think about it," he replied because damn him if Bruce was going to get the satisfaction of knowing he had won. 

_"That's good to hear. How far away is your teammates' flight?"_

Pulling himself to his feet, Dick detoured to the infirmary to sneak a glance at Rachel. Her vitals were hanging in strong and he hobbled tiredly into the kitchen. "Not sure. Kory was supposed to tell me when they took off." 

_"I see. And they'll be in the air for how long?"_

"It's a six, seven-hour flight?" 

The man whistled. _"Always hated those long ones. You, in particular, had an especially strong distaste for them from what I recall."_

Dick dropped the phone to the counter, grabbing a can of soup and the chicken stock from the fridge. "I hate to break it to you. But I still hate flying." 

_"Even now? After all these years?"_

"Well, I don't white knuckle it like I used to. The pilot's license helped a lot, though." 

_"I told you it was a good idea. Would come in handy one day."_

"Yeah. It taught me exactly all the ways a plane could go down. Even some you've never heard of."

Bruce chuckled at him. _"I'll thank you not to return the favor."_

Dick set a pot on the stove, waiting as the ignition light clicked on. "Might have to take you up on that. Ruin your flying, that is. I still can't look at a goose without thinking up a list of engines it could take down." 

_"And let me guess, the answer will surprise me."_

"I think it would." 

Soup on to boil, Dick considered chopping some carrots and celery to throw in. It would be nice to have a nutritious meal but his duties in the infirmary were calling him. He'd been away too long already, chatting happily with Bruce as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Bruce picked up on his hesitation and Dick shouldn't have been surprised when he started to say his goodbyes. It was smooth and effortless, coming from a man who had spent his life ending business calls he hadn't wanted to be a part of in the first place. 

"Yeah, I'll talk soon," Dick replied, arms crossed. "Thanks for calling." 

_"You know Alfred. Not one to keep a secret."_

Dick made a face, thinking back on all the times Alfred had taken an oath of secrecy so Dick wouldn't get in trouble for all the shit he did as a kid.

"Something like that," he replied noncommittally. 

Bruce laughed at him, knowing better than to push. His son was a grown man; he could keep as many skeletons in his closet as he wanted. _"Talk soon, son."_

"Thanks, Bruce." It was the closest they ever got to "I love you"s and Dick hung up. He checked the timer on his personal phone. 

08:07:35

Sighing, he shuffled to the infirmary just to check as he stalled making a decision on the soup. It was only one can, but they had more. And stock could make things last. If he made enough, padding it out with vegetables and toast, there would be some to share. It would be a nice meal, something homey and easy on the stomach and they could all use some homemade food.

Rachel hadn't changed and Dick quickly retreated back to the kitchen. 

Vegetables it was. 

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

The soup bought him another two hours and settled his mind and stomach enough for him to get some work done. That cost him a few more and before he knew it, she had less than five hours left. 

He stood at her bedside, making sure she was comfortable and checking Stewart's bandages. The wounds underneath were still seeping slightly, but the stitches had more or less held. Her burns looked painful and blistered, which wasn't overly concerning because injuries like those tended to get worse before they got better. She would be sore, though, from the wounds and CPR. 

Her vitals were steady and he compared them to her averages from throughout the day. She had made only a slight improvement, the cardiac failure pushing her progress way backward. It was a slow, agonizing crawl, but she was doing it. 

It seemed her body was just as strong as her mind, after all.

When the timer hit four hours he called Stewart to give her an update because she had four hours left and wasn't anywhere close to waking up. She was impressed and instructed him to continue keeping watch; Rachel wasn't out of the woods yet. 

Night had fallen long ago and he had closed the curtains. He wanted them open, though, yearning for the moonlight in the stale lights of the infirmary. They were starting to give him a headache, but it wasn't anything he wouldn't put up with. The rain continued well into the night and early hours of the next day. 

With three hours left, he gave up on sleep and decided he would just have to sit and wait. 

At two he had permanently relocated to her bedside, holding her hand and watching the time tick down. The Titans should be landing any minute now, but it would take them well over an hour and a half to get through the airport and to the Tower. 

Less than an hour left and he called Stewart again because she still wasn't waking up. The rain had stopped and, with nothing better to do, he had opened the curtains. She arrived twenty minutes later, looking grim and not the least bit hopeful. If she wasn't Rachel's primary physician through all of this, he would have kicked her ass to the curb before she even walked in. They didn't need that kind of negativity in here. Rachel didn't and his mental health certainly couldn't handle anything but foolish optimism. 

00:46:32

Rachel's vitals picked up, her brain activity spiking dully. 

00:31:04

Kory called. They'd be there in about thirty minutes. 

00:17:44

Stewart suggested he consider planning for the worst case scenario. He managed not to tell her to go to hell. 

00:09:59

He clutched Rachel's hand in his own, forehead pressed to hers as he begged her, pleaded with her to wake up. Stewart politely kept her distance but it didn't matter anymore. Who cared if someone saw him cry? What did his pride matter in the vastness of his sorrow? 

00:05:13

The Tower rang, Kory and the Titans coming through the front door. 

00:02:54

Rachel opened her eyes. Dick almost didn't believe it at first, but he quickly cupped her face in his hands, tears splashing to her cheeks. Stewart pushed him aside, checking her pupil dilation and responsiveness. 

"Rachel, my name is Dr. Stewart. Do you know where you are?" 

"...Dick," she groaned, searching for him. 

"I'm here." He was at her side in an instant and she looked at him, letting his large eyes and that smile she loved so much ground her. He guided her like a lighthouse as she clawed and pulled her way back to the land of the living. 

"Dick...!" she sobbed and he pulled her into a tight hug, stroking her back and kissing her hair. 

"You're here," he soothed, squeezing tightly. "You're here. I got you. It's okay." 

The Titans burst into the room, releasing a collective breath when they saw the scene. Their Raven was awake. Which meant she would live. They gathered around the bed, holding and squeezing any part of the girl in support. They cried, they thanked their lucky stars, and they watched the sunrise. 

00:00:00


End file.
